


Without a Sound

by Except_on_Tuesday



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Cole Anderson Dies, Emotional Hurt, Flashbacks, Gavin Reed Being an Idiot, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gavin Reed is Bad at Feelings, Gavin Reed-centric, Gen, Ghosts, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hallucinations, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mentioned Cole Anderson, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:09:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23058271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Except_on_Tuesday/pseuds/Except_on_Tuesday
Summary: Even while he's breaking, Gavin is convinced he's 'fine.'
Relationships: Connor & Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Gavin Reed
Comments: 42
Kudos: 214





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is gonna be dark(er)?. I'm erring on the side of caution with the rating and tags.

Don’t listen. A heart won’t talk through cross-stitch.

My soul the needle; my mind the suture.

While I whirl, my eyes won’t see the ledge.

Watch and applaud each spin and spiral.

Don’t listen. I won’t scream when I fall.

\-------------------------------------------

October 5 20—

One foot resting on the leg of his chair, the other stretched under his desk, Gavin swiveled side-to-side, chewing a pen while he reviewed an autopsy report for a body found in an old drainage pond just outside a water treatment facility.

It should have been an open-and-shut ‘accidental death’ case, but he’d mulled over it for two days, delaying the death certificate and the body’s release to the state—eager as always to cremate the corpse. _Out of sight, outta mind, I guess_.

The medical examiner—wanting to clear the body out of her overcrowded mortuary—wasn’t entirely wrong when she accused Gavin of taking his ‘sweet d—mn time’ with case reports. But this time he honestly wasn’t trying to spread annoyance.

But every time he wrote ‘accidental death’ on his report, it morphed into ‘wrong again.’

Of course the medical examiner could sign off on her own report and there’d be little reason to continue investigating; if Captain Fowler got wind the homicide sergeant was wasting time on an obvious accident, Gavin would have to endure another tongue lashing about how a ‘responsible’ detective spent public funds.

Gavin rubbed his nose and distracted himself for a moment with his jacket’s zipper, drawing the warm garment closer to his body. It wasn’t like he WANTED to be here, during the night shift, being hit with a draft from the lobby, staring at pictures of a dead man’s hairy, bloated body with a head smashed like a melon surrounded by a halo of bloody brains and bone.

But Gavin couldn’t pinpoint the source of his unease with this case. Once he did that, he knew he could sign off. But he couldn’t. So here he was, staring at unappealing photographs, losing his appetite and getting eyestrain and insomnia over a man nobody cared about.

 _Nobody but me apparently._ Gavin chuckled darkly around the pen in his mouth. _Sorry, bud. Guess you really did hit rock bottom._ The tired detective’s chuckle rolled into a short bark of laughter that rang hollow in the almost deserted bullpen. The pen clattered onto the desk and rolled toward the edge of the desk, leaving a wet trail. Gavin halted its descent to the floor with a careless flick of his fingers while he enjoyed his joke.

“Reed.” Someone said.

 _Killjoy._ “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He slouched into his chair. “Phck you.” Nobody around here had any sense of humor.

Gavin yawned and rubbed his eyes, pressing his palms into them until it hurt, trying to chase away the floaters that obscured his view of the glaring computer screen and the dead man. _Probably be better off if I just signed off—get you into your little box with the rest of the Doe family._

Gavin yawned again, wincing when his jaw cracked. _Gah...why’m I here?_ He ruffled his hair and propped his elbows on the desk and tried to refocus on the photographs while he gnawed at the pen that had again found its way from his restless fingers and into his mouth.

_Okay. No defensive wounds...shame....man should go down fighting his heart out....Fractured skull...ehh...not much you can do there...broken neck....yup....gonner...multiple fractured ribs...ow...bet that hurt...unless, you know...broken neck thing....what the hell...they’re all injuries consistent with an accidental death from a fall. Fall from......._

Gavin pulled up photos of the scene itself and leaned forward, tapping the screen with the pen as he scrolled between pictures. _Broken safety rails. Steep incline. Bottoms out into a concrete pit._

 _Old drunk homeless man loses his footing, falls against old rails, and over he goes, splat to the bottom. Kerplunk....Public Works is going to have field day with that....public funds....huh...._ Nibbling the pen’s rubber grip, Gavin swiped over the autopsy photos again and stared at the documented wounds again.

 _It’s gotta be accidental death. There’s no evidence to suggest otherwise. D—mmit._ He pulled up his report form, fingers posed over his terminal’s keys.

_But no evidence doesn’t mean he WASN’T murdered; only that I can’t prove it._

The thought nagged at the edge of his brain. Scowling, Gavin minimized his report and dragged up the photos and the medical report and studied them again.

_No defensive wounds. But he might’ve been taken by surprise. But who the hell would want to kill some old homeless drunk?_

_Motive? Means? Opportunity?_

“ID, ID, ID...” Gavin mumbled around the pen as he glanced at the name on the medical file: John Doe #10112035.

There were no other footprints found at the scene except the victim’s and some urban explorers’ who’d found the body and called it in. Gavin chomped the pen, letting his teeth sink into the plastic casing as he reviewed the witness statements. It all checked out. The footsteps told the story. _Walk, slip, fall, splat._

A headache settled in deeper behind his eyes. He scowled, spat out the pen, and swung around in his chair. “Hey, brave little toaster!”

No answer. Connor’s desk was empty. So was Hank’s. Spinning the pen between his fingers, Gavin glanced at his desktop clock: 10:11PM.

_Oh._

Of course the duo wasn’t there. They didn’t work nights, and since Anderson was a genius and since it was impossible for Mr. Perfect to fail at anything, they didn’t need to stay late to work a case. They had their cases solved in a matter of hours, unless it was truly difficult. _Like a cold case._

“Hey Chris.”

No answer.

Gavin swung around and stared at the empty desk next to his. There was...no Chris?

He squelched whatever sensation stirred in his chest before he could even try to identify it. Crushed it under the heel of his always reliable cynicism, irritation and anger. He returned to studying the photos. _Fine. Whatever. Who needs ‘em._

_You almost asked for help, didn’t you?_

_No._

He hadn’t been about to break ‘the rule.’ _Just in the mood to terrorize the stupid robot-boy or two-shoes Chris._ But his short, chipped nails dug into his palms anyway because he didn’t believe himself.

Gavin uncurled his hand. Reddened half-moons accused him of weakness and failure. _Can’t even solve a simple case without having a meltdown. SHUT UP._

Silence.

Gavin listened for the voice.

Silence. Great. Just the way he liked it.

He returned his attention to his terminal. _Now why can’t I solve this case? If I decide upon ‘accidental death,’ I’ll be wrong; if I say ‘possible foul play’ I’ll be wrong._

 _That doesn’t make sense! They can’t both be wrong!_ He inwardly screamed at his tormented brain’s paranoia. _You’re wrong._

“Are you Detective Reed?” A small, female voice asked.

Gavin didn’t bother looking away from the gruesome photos of the half-decomposed body covered in mud, worms, and slime. “If you’re too stupid to read a desk plate, then not even I can help you. You want directions ask the receptionist.” One of the downsides of having a desk near the entrance was he had to field stupid questions if Chris wasn’t there to do it.

“You probably don’t remember me...” The meek little voice whispered.

Gavin shrugged away from the hand he didn’t see, but sensed reaching for his arm. “Not unless you were a dead body. And probably not even then.”

“You worked my sister’s case.”

“Did I close it?” He jerked away again from the unseen hand.

“Yes.”

Still, stubbornly not looking at the owner of the voice. “Then why are we talking?” His eyes burned as he stared at the screen before him without seeing the images or words. It seemed to pulse in time with his headache. “Someone up for a parole hearin’ or somethin’?”

“Do you remember her? My sister?”

“Names, dates, details.” Gavin flapped his hand impatiently.

“Alex Tyne. October 5 2035.”

Pen back in mouth like a cigar, Gavin ran the search on his computer, still without giving the speaker the courtesy of looking at her. “T.I....? T.E......ehhh.”

“T.Y.N.E.”

“Dumb name. Who has a name like “Tiny?”

“The ‘E’ is silent.”

“Whatever.” Gavin scrolled through the case files. “....Alex....Alexandra Tyne?”

“Yes.”

“Accidental death. Electrocution. TOD between ten and midnight. What about it?”

“You were wrong.” Before Gavin could react to the statement, a cold finger touched the side of his head. “And it’s your turn to die.”

‘BANG’

\--

Gavin jerked upright from his desk, eyes wide, head and heart pounding. The tightening fingers of a distant migraine curled around the side of his head.

“Sorry.” Chris held up his tactical flashlight. “Dropped it.” He braced himself for Reed’s verbal onslaught. He’d once been persecuted by the sergeant for an entire weekend after bumping his chair while escorting a suspect.

But instead of tearing into Chris for waking him up, Gavin scoffed, blinked and squinted at the bright log-in screen blaring at his eyes. Subtly, he stared at the scarred but unbroken skin on his palm. _A dream._ He groaned and dropped his head into his hands, massaging his temples with his thumbs.

Chris clipped the flashlight onto his belt. The captain was cracking down on equipment regulations and Chris didn’t want to be kept late for having messy gear and dead batteries. Some days, he really wished he was a detective. He glanced with a little jealousy at the informally dressed sergeant. The only equipment Gavin had to keep in order were his cuffs and gun and then whatever he kept in his car’s trunk—but it wasn’t like Captain Fowler went around checking everyone’s cars. _Thank goodness for that._ Chris almost blushed to think of how messy his car had become with family life. Reed still repeated the story of how Chris had gone on patrol with a yellow ducky plush stuck to the Velcro of his uniform’s back pocket.

Speaking of Reed. Chris cast a side-eye at the man. This time of the year was hard on everyone who’d been part of the DPD back in 2035, but Gavin always picked up Anderson’s slack and mercilessly dragged every shift through the rough patch. But this time, Gavin looked as worn down as the emotionally drained lieutenant who’d gone home early with Connor.

Chris watched Reed drag a hand over his head and down his face, rubbing at his throat and neck.

“You okay?” Chris asked.

Gavin looked a little disorientated as he pushed away from his desk with less gusto than usual. An undefined fear for the sergeant rose in Chris’ chest. “Gavin? You good, man?”

“’m’phyn.”

\--

Gavin dragged himself into the breakroom. Someone was in there, but they gave him a curt nod and left. _Probably Chen._ He got his coffee, returned to his desk, and searched the name ‘Alexandra Tyne’.

_10 05 2035. Accidental death. Electrocution. TOD between 10 and midnight._

He felt for the pen he left on his desk. But it wasn’t there, so he settled his teeth against the side of his hand while he stared at the screen. He wouldn’t break skin. He was careful.

_10 05 2035_

How could he had forgotten the month? He’d been writing it on his reports for the past week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback chapt

October 07 2035

“Happy birthday, Gavin.” Ben clapped the younger man on the shoulder. The kid jumped under his touch. “Easy. It’s just me.” He answered the pouty scowl with a smile. “Jumpy much?”

“Hah.” Gavin rubbed his neck and pushed the lingering hand off his shoulder. “Uh.” He huffed a sigh, “Thanks?” He chewed the inside of his cheek as he studied Ben’s friendly expression.

_Thanks for the ‘happy birthday’? I didn’t ask for that. And I didn’t want it. I shoulda said ‘no thanks.’ Stupid Gavin. Just keep your mouth shut. Now what’s he want?_

Ben had sat on the edge of Gavin’s desk, uncomfortably close to Gavin’s feet propped on the desk. Gavin’s legs itched to move.

_This is my territory Ben! C’mon! Leave me alone! You got your own desk!_

“Got any hot plans?” If Ben was put off by the glare from his one-time partner, he didn’t show it. Gavin might be a world-champion grudge holder, but Ben was always willing to hold out the olive branch. They’d both made mistakes in the past, but Ben was wise enough to move on without letting it bother him—he’d go insane otherwise.

He used to think it took two people to make a fight, but judging by Gavin’s expression, the kid was perfectly willing to shadow box grudges until the day he died.

Gavin shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Hot plans?” It amazed Ben how quickly Gavin could hide his emotions. “Do cold chicken and avocado sandwiches with an overweight medical examiner and a dead prostitute count?”

Ben shook his head. “You’re only young once, kid. There’ll always be cases and dead people. Get yourself a nice lasagna or pizza for dinner tonight. Something warm for a cold day.”

“I’m not young. And Evil-Emily won’t stay late if I don’t bring her those frickin’ sandwiches.” Gavin’s green eyes darkened with muted irritation. The medical examiner’s acerbic attitude was worse than his. She’d thrown a liver at him the last time he’d said something to piss her off.

“I don’t like Italian food.” He continued. “And I hate pizza.” He averted his eyes and picked at a scab on his knuckle. Just the memory of tomato sauce, garlic, and pepperoni was enough to make him sick to the stomach. Gavin wiped his hand off on his pant leg—black pants hid everything.

Ben didn’t move. Gavin glared and his scowl deepened. “At least I’m not as old as you.” His mouth twisted into an ugly smirk.

 _Just go away._ His mental plea disgusted himself and gave further energy to his nasty expression. “Want me to write your obituary? Got your plot picked out?”

“Right next to Mrs. Collins and my daughter.”

The sneer stayed on Gavin’s face like a painted mask. _Sh—t. Forgot. Some detective I am. Can’t even remember basic details._ His stomach felt cold and empty.

Ben had lost his wife and daughter in a boating accident nearly ten years ago; he’d told Gavin about it early in their partnership at a time when Gavin had needed to know that Ben was not afraid of dying and didn’t need Gavin to risk his life for the older detective. That had been the beginning of their year long, painful falling out.

But before the stunted feelings in Gavin’s chest could make their way up to his brain to be identified, and an apology at least considered, Ben slid off the desk. “But enough about me.” He smiled thinly. “I know you don’t like presents or surprises, but,” he set a little green gift box down on the desk, “happy birthday.” He added. “You don’t have to open it right now or even today.”

Gavin’s mouth opened and shut. “You bought me a present?” He murmured, poking at the little box.

“Yep.” Ben shrugged. “Not a gold watch or anything, but just something to help you celebrate.”

“But...” _I’m not...I don’t...._ “Ben...”

“Don’t give yourself an aneurysm.” Without waiting for an answer Ben walked away, tapping Gavin’s foot as he did so. “Take care of yourself, kid.”

Once Ben’s back was turned Gavin held the little present in his palm. But instead of opening it, he held the gift over the trash bin under his desk. He hesitated for a second and then dropped the gift in. 

Stale tears that were more salt than water pricked at the edge of his eyes as he tried to turn his attention back on the case at hand.

Victim: Female, 28. Alexandra Tyne.

_It’s my birthday._

Found dead in her studio electrocuted by a soldering iron with a damaged cord.

_I got a present._

Her little sister had found the body.

The tenuous warmth had saturated the lump in Gavin’s chest and made it heavier. _That poor girl._ He wondered if she’d had a good relationship with her sister. If they called each other on the phone to complain about their day or confide new, silly secrets. What was last thing they’d said to each other?

_But it’s my birthday today. But Alexandra Tyne is dead. She’s dead. I’m alive._

He looked at the ID photograph of the young woman. She looked happy. He pulled up the scene photos. She looked dead. Gavin could almost smell the burnt flesh—it was as if Alexandra was a tiny body caught just behind his terminal screen...he clicked on the photos. _Nope_. Just a bunch of pixels.

The statements taken by the on-scene officers included the sister’s insistence that it wasn’t an accident, claiming that ‘Alex’ would never work with damaged tools. Insisted that someone had increased the electrical current and sabotaged the cord. 

But there was no evidence that anyone else had been in or around the studio other than the young woman. And the sister had admitted that Alex did tend to ‘personalize’ her equipment.

“Voided your warranty f’sure.” Gavin muttered.

Apparently this Alexandra was an up and coming metal and polymer artist. Her family had just enough social capital to pressure the DPD into looking into the death. Maybe it was just for show, maybe not. Either way, DPD had promised to examine the case.

_I wonder what they’d think if they knew scraggly, ugly Reed was working it._

_I didn’t say ‘thanks’ to Ben._

But he’d thrown the gift away. Did that mean he still had to say thanks? What if Ben asked how he liked it? Gavin eyed the box nestled in the trash. _I could just peek at it—NO!_ He slammed the door on his curiosity’s fingers just as they reached toward the present.

His heart pounded in his head and he couldn’t seem to work air into his lungs. _I can’t. I won’t._

He wouldn’t put himself in a position to owe anyone anything.

Gavin’s scattered emotions and thoughts coalesced and his scowl eased away into a milder frown.

 _Ben got me a gift and I threw it away. Sorry? Sorry._ But once the words attached to the emotion, a swell of hatred and loathing choked it. _I’m NOT. There’s no sense in being ‘sorry’ about anything!_ Gavin slammed his palms against his desk. A few officers looked over at him.

Cheeks burning under the stares, Gavin retreated from the ‘pen. A little fresh air would settle him down. _No big deal. Whatever. Ben started it with all his phckin’ ‘birthday’ crap._

Once he was outside, the cold air poked at his eyes, making them water. It wasn’t until he was on the sidewalk being struck with large raindrops that he remembered it was supposed to rain all day. Too proud to return and admit his mistake, Gavin hurried to the parking garage and hunched his shoulders in a corner for ten minutes with his phone before returning to work with chapped and bleeding hands. He slouched into his chair with furtive glances in case anyone else wanted to sneak up on him with unwanted birthday wishes.

No one did.

Gavin stayed late but Emily had gone back on her promise to do the same. Gavin was just getting ready to leave, packing some files he wanted to keep looking through into his backpack when he noticed the station’s janitor android moving from desk to desk, emptying trash bins into a large receptacle.

The little green box in the garbage at his feet had seemed to star at him all day. Even when he wasn’t at his desk. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? He didn’t want it. He didn’t. It was just a trick to lure him in. Ben would demand something in return. Gavin’s head hurt and he shook it almost imperceptibly. _I won’t._

A plastic bin thumped at the desk near his. The wheels on the larger trash bin squeaked against the floor. Gavin rolled himself up closer to his desk, propping his legs against the top of his trash bin.

The android paused alongside him.

“Excuse me.”

Gavin looked at it. “You’re excused.” He said without moving. The poor thing’s LED spun and it mimicked a smile.

“I require access to the space beneath your desk.”

“No.”

“Please, I must insist.”

“F—k off.”

It smiled again.

Gavin surged up from his chair and heel kicked the robot in the chest. The android staggered back but did not fall. “C’mon. I dare you.”

The android’s LED rotated, it determined that the human was hostile, and it returned to its task, skipping Gavin’s desk.

Gavin snatched the little present out of the trash and stuffed it into his backpack, stuffed it all the way down to the bottom where the crumbs and old candy wrappers lived.

\--

At his apartment, Gavin sat on his couch, elbows on knees, chin in hands and stared at the little box on his coffee table. Cat purred and licked his hair from where she was sprawled on the back of the couch, her flicking tail tickled his neck every now and then.

“Should I open it, Cat?” He said, reaching back with one hand to dig his fingers into her deep neck fur. “It IS my birthday.” He chewed his lip. “I mean, people get presents all the time. It’s not really a big deal. And it’s not like Ben’s gonna be all....you know. Blah-blah-now-you-owe-me-crap....And I could always deny that I opened it. Not like he’s gonna know the difference. Right? Pfft. What the hell.” Gavin lurched forward and opened the box.

“Oh.”

It was a black chain necklace. Gavin lifted the item from the box and held it up in the yellow lamplight of his apartment. Attached to the chain was a tiny silver cat charm, seemingly caught in motion as it climbed onto the chain. He touched the charm with a fingertip and watched it swing, glinting in the light.

Suddenly tired, Gavin sank back into the couch, Cat slinked down to sprawl on his chest.

The necklace clasped in one hand, the other resting on his cat’s back, the young detective fell asleep—avoiding for one night his turbulent emotions and the distant backwash repercussions of making the decision to keep the present for as long as he lived. For the first time in a long time, he slept without nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'd these cats get in here?! This isn't supposed to be fluffy!
> 
> ^^ Oh and HDR will likely be updated by Friday or Saturday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one more flashback

October 11 2035

By Thursday afternoon, Gavin was stuck.

Repeated hair pulling and combing had left him with hair product on his hands and a boyishly fluffed appearance and no closer to a final answer. Both hands were in his hair now, as Gavin closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

He peeked at the mess of files on his desk.

 _Nope._ Still as confusing as ever.

It was as if he’d been carrying a stack of assembled puzzles, dropped them, and gotten amnesia. And now had to put everything back together again. Gavin dropped one hand onto a stack of reports and spread them out with an unnecessary flourish, a hack magician.

Words. Photos.

He rubbed his eyes, but that didn’t help his concentration either. He saw the shapes and colors, but they wouldn’t come together with any sort of meaning outside of: red, square, body, girl, carpet, ugly, studio, electrocution...

_Why can’t I get this?_

He’d start to analyze one photograph, but then his eyes wandered to an insignificant detail on the photo’s edge. And then, next thing, he was staring at a weather report on his phone—with no idea of why he’d taken an interest in precipitation forecasts. Gavin tossed his phone onto his desk.

The files and reports he’d stacked on his desk so neatly at the beginning of the week were spread out in mysterious stacks that Gavin was certain Early Morning Gavin could explain, but he’d since lost whatever train of thought had inspired the arrangement. But if he moved them now he’d never find that thread again.

He squared his hands in front of himself like a viewing lens. _Focus. One thing atta time. I can do this—_

A rough hand rattled his chair back. “Still trying to solve the accidental death case, Reed?”

Officer George Winters was the precinct's most popular cop. He was the go-to poster boy for PR events. Tall, handsome, perfect features; he could say and do whatever he wanted, call it a joke, and everyone would be laughing with him instead of trying to knock his teeth in.

Which was the first thing Gavin had tried to do after meeting the man for the first time.

Gavin muttered. “Didn’t see anyone complaining when I closed that case last week.”

Winters set his foot on the edge of Gavin’s chair and leaned over him. The smell of artificial sandalwood was overpowering. Gavin shrank back before he could stop himself. “Do you really think,” the man said in his movie-star voice, throaty and dramatic, “that property damage is anything remotely similar to animal cruelty?”

Gavin shoved the shiny boot off his chair, scowling at the dirt traces it left. “Androids look and act like humans.” _I will not lose my temper._ He forced himself to speak casually. “If anything, it was better than animal—

“You think animal cruelty is good?” Winters reeled back in mock horror, slapping a hand over his broad chest. “I knew you were cold, Gav, but that’s harsh!”

People were staring now. Gavin knew they were. “I didn’t, I don’t....that isn’t. I mean,” he licked his lips, “research shows that violence toward lower forms of life—

“And he thinks androids are ALIVE!” Winters clapped. “WOW! That’s so precious! I bet you apologize if you run into one, don’t you?”

“...escalation of violence....” Gavin’s explanation trailed off as he realized the other man’s intention for the conversation was to rile up the precinct’s hothead. “F—k off.” He spat, careful to enunciate the word despite the tightening of his vocal cords as his rage swelled at the picture perfect cop in his half-size too small uniform and shiny boots.

Winters stared at him, letting his gaze wander over the detective. “I guess when they said detectives can wear street clothes, you thought they said clothes from the streets. How OLD is that jacket? I could smell it from across the room.”

If Winters had not suddenly straightened up and strode rapidly away, Gavin might have had another suspension on his hands. As it was, by the time Gavin could see through the red haze, the man was gone.

Unaccountably tired and with a headache, Gavin turned his attention back to his work, pushing Winters out of his mind as best he could. Wrapped the memory up in a plastic bag and shoved it away into some dark corner of his mind.

Compartmentalizing. That’s what it was called.

 _Focus, focus, focus._ _Murder...accident...electrocution....Alexandra...what happened to you?_

For the last few days, Gavin had struggled to piece together a satisfactory case for Alexandra. Nothing in the evidence suggested foul play; sure the cord and the modified tool were means, but according to statements Alexandra always modified her tools.

As for the damaged cord, there was no evidence that it had been recently damaged. Even forensics said the wires had been exposed for some time and that the cord had not been cut, but torn. _Like one would expect to see in an old cord._ _So there. Case closed, right?_

A clever murderer would know better than to take a razor blade to a cord. Any good detective would roll his eyes.

 _But I can’t build a case on one cord_.

Gavin rubbed his eyes. The younger sister had grabbed his arm during the interview earlier that week— _like hello? The frickin’ sign says ‘no touching!’ S_ he’d begged the young detective to not let her sister’s murder go unpunished.

_There’s nothing to punish. Just a sad accident._

Then why couldn’t he submit the report?

////

“Please, detective!” The girl grabbed his arm. “I know she was killed! I just know it!’

Gavin jerked away and pulled his arms in close. "And how do you ‘know’ it?"

“I just have a feeling!”

“Yeah. No. I can’t spend time and resources—

“You think she isn’t worth your time and money?!” The outraged sibling stood from her chair. Gavin remained seated and blinked at her theatrics. “What if that was your sister?”

Gavin knew better than to be goaded by witnesses or suspects. “Sit, or you’ll be charged with disorderly conduct.”

////

She’d been so sure. But no amount of questioning could lead the girl to any explanation.

Gavin knew all about gut instinct, but that never went well with a jury. _But this_ —he looked at his notes— _Hen...that wasn’t her name._ Gavin squinted and angled the notebook. He couldn’t read his own writing. _I need to start taking notes on my phone._

He sighed and ruffled his hands through his hair again.

Ben had told him it looked like an accident, the labs said accident, the evidence said accident...

A throaty laugh caught his attention. It wasn’t one of those obnoxious laughs. It was a full-hearted laugh that stirred Gavin’s bones and made a portion of the precinct’s ghoulishness dissolve.

Lieutenant Anderson.

He was a genius.

Gavin felt his cheeks heat up. Anderson could help.

As long as he didn’t remember that one incident...or that other one.

_Phck....why do I always screw up around important people?_

Gavin rubbed the back of his hand against the underside of his desk and watched Lieutenant Anderson at his desk. It was nearing the end of the lieutenant’s shift; the officer must have just come in from a meeting or something.

If Gavin didn’t get his feet moving now, he’d miss his chance.

Anderson stretched and yawned with a roar like a sleepy lion as he checked his pockets for his keys and phone.

_He’s gonna leave! C’mon feet! Move!_

The young detective gathered up his files into one messy armful.

Everyone was looking at him. He knew they were. They knew he was stumped. They’d probably made bets on how long it would take for him to crawl for help.

The blood roared in his ears. Tendrils of his pride clung to his chair, trying to keep him in place. _You don’t need him! You don’t need help! You can figure this out! They’re gonna think you can’t do your job!_ Gavin pushed away his chair and strode with purpose toward Anderson.

 _DPD is different._ Gavin rubbed off a scab on the inside of his jacket pocket. His fingers touched a chain. Ben’s gift. Gavin wound his fingers around the chain, pinned the little cat charm between his fingers.

Maybe it was the present, maybe it was the good sleep he had the other day, maybe the contrast between Winters and Anderson had made Gavin more susceptible to the heartiness of the lieutenant.

Whatever it was, a ridiculous thought entered his mind. _I just had a birthday. It can be like a....new year for me. Try to do things different...good detectives ask questions. I have a question. Imma gonna ask it. Anderson knows everything. He can help..._

Lieutenant Anderson, Red Ice Taskforce Leader was staring right at him, looking half amused and half annoyed.

_..ah...hell...he remembers me..._

"Ah....d—mmit. Hell......hi. Sh—t. Lieutenant Anderson?”

“Take two steps back and one step to the right.” Anderson said. “And you’ll be fine.”

_WHAAAAAT?!_

Gavin’s chest hurt. Was Anderson even speaking English? What the hell was he saying? Gavin wasn’t sure even what left and right were anymore. He stumbled into the desk to his left, nearly dropping his files. Someone laughed a perfect laugh. A flush of anger coursed through Gavin.

Anderson swept past, shaking his head and looking at his phone.

The impulse to ‘catch’ took over. Gavin’s body moved with ease past the torrent of undefined emotions and half-formed thoughts. More graceful than when he’d simply needed to walk, Gavin held his files to his chest with one arm, used the other hand to leverage himself up and over the desk he’d run into. It wasn’t his most elegant maneuver, but his legs cleared the desk, and he slung himself into the escaping lieutenant’s path.

He staggered the landing and ended up hopping and striking his hip on the edge of a desk. That was going to leave a bruise, but he’d achieved his goal.

“Are you busy?” He asked in a rush. _Idiot._ His mind sang at him. _Of course he is. You’re the one who isn’t._

Distracted by his phone, Anderson had missed the gymnastics; so, he was surprised to see the jittery ball of emotion in front of him again.

“Oh. Sorry.” Anderson said with a smile. “I didn’t know you needed something. Sorry.” He waved a hand as he sat on the edge of a desk. “Didn’t meant to shrug you off like that.” He studied the lean young man with the scarred face and the striking green eyes. “Oh. That’s right. You’re Ben’s kid. You ruined that bust last year.”

Gavin’s cheeks flushed and then he paled. “No. Well. Yeah...Not really....he was. We were. You know. Partners. Ah....hell.....that bust.....”

Anderson leaned back, a wry smirk slanted across his face at the stammering junior detective. “What’dya want, bucko?”

Gavin thumbed the edges of the dog-eared files. “I— _I wanted to show you my work—_ I have to review a scene.”

“So? You don’t need my permission.” Anderson said waving a hand impatiently. “You’ve practically run homicide on your own for awhile now, haven’t you? Been doing fine according to your evaluations.”

“What? No. I mean. Yeah. Of course.” _Well. Now this is awkward._

Gavin had come for help with a case. And now he was being praised for having done good work on his own. He’d set his own bar too high. He’d look like a failure if he asked for advice now. And such a stupid question. Why hadn’t he asked for help on something else? Something big and important and difficult? Not a stupid, baseless ‘do you think this obvious accidental death was really an accident?’

The lieutenant tucked his phone into his pocket and waited patiently for the young detective to come back from whatever mental abstraction he’d wandered into.

“Thanks?” Gavin frowned.

That wasn’t what he’d come over here for. _Just spit it out. You’ve already made a fool outta yerself._

“Could you look it over?”

Anderson’s brow furrowed. He was busy with his own caseload, had his kid to pick up from a friend’s house, and a huge wedding anniversary to plan for Jeffrey. Besides, the whole point of letting little Reed run homicide was so that Anderson could focus on red ice cases.

“Kid, I do my job; you do yours. If I have to do both our jobs, what’s the point of you?” It was said with a smile. Jeffrey had mentioned granting a promotion to sergeant to a 'Reed.' Hank hadn't placed a face with the name until now. He moved off the desk and patted Gavin on the shoulder, accidently brushing his large hand against the young man’s neck.

Gavin shuddered and backed up a pace. His lips were pressed into a thin white line. "So...that's it? No?"

Anderson relented a little. He hadn’t meant to insult the kid. “Look. I’m sure you’ll do fine. Why don’t you ask Ben for help?”

A lump of nastiness tightened in Gavin’s chest. “Pfft.” He shrugged. “Guess the rumors were right.”

Anderson stopped and turned around. “What rumors?”

Gavin smirked. _Yeah, Gavin. Dig your grave._ “Old man Anderson is so full of red ice he lost his edge for homicides.”

To his credit Anderson did not slam the kid into the wall like he wanted to. Workplace aggression was unprofessional for the precinct’s youngest lieutenant. And this little banty rooster was somewhat endearing with all his fidgeting and posturing. But the kid was obviously clever and good at his work, and was just arrogant enough to be interesting.

Anderson checked his phone again. “Tell you what. I got some time before I have to get Cole. Let’s go see this scene of yours—I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Gavin was less pleased than he thought he’d be to have Lieutenant Anderson driving him to a crime scene. Felt more like being taken to school for detention.

But maybe that was his fault for slouching and crossing his arms.

“Don’t slouch.”

Naw. It was the lieutenant’s.

\--

Gavin chewed the top of his files while Anderson strode around the scene. One day, he’d be a senior officer and get to show everyone how it was done. He’d have so much power. He’d make them all jump. That’ll—

“Kid?”

“Eh?” Gavin snapped out of his thoughts. “Yeah?”

“Do you have photos of the body in that mess?” Anderson gestured at the folders and files crumpled against Gavin’s chest. “Yeah.” Without looking Gavin found the file and handed it over.

With a mildly impressed look, Anderson admired the kid’s luck or familiarity with the files. He sighed and leaned against the wall as he studied the photo in relation to the room. “Well, I don’t see anything obviously indicating foul play—

“Yeah. Me either. And the sister couldn’t point me to anyone who’d have a motive.”

“Everyone has a motive to kill someone.” Anderson muttered, rubbing his trimmed beard.

Gavin knew his own scraggy five o’clock was nothing in comparison. His fingers twitched and he shifted his weight.

Anderson raised an eyebrow. “You okay over there?”

Gavin nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He didn’t know why the lieutenant was giving him that lopsided half-smile.

They went over the room twice, walking through various theories, but each time they came back to the same conclusion: Accidental death.

“I mean,” Anderson said, “it’s always possible, but in this case unlikely, that we’re faced with a sick genius. Besides those types are usually showboats. They want to be chased and given attention.” He swept his arm over the room. “I think what we have here is a real, sad accident. The sister is a no-go?”

“Everything checks out.”

“What if—

Anderson’s phone rang. “Anderson.” He barked into it without finishing his previous sentence.

Gavin made a note to answer his phone like that sort of command and confidence. _How do I answer my phone anyway? ‘Hello?’ That’s so lame..._

“Yikes! Cole, I’m so sorry!” Anderson swept a hand over his short hair, “I was working a case with one of the rookies. I’ll be right there. Kay? Daddy loves you. See you soon.”

Gavin stared at a tear in the carpet. _A rookie..._

Anderson clapped him on the shoulder. “I gotta run; Cole’s waiting. We can talk about this again tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Gavin shrugged the hand off. “Tomorrow.”

\--

Gavin returned to the station. He wanted to be positive about the outcome of working with Anderson, but a gnawing at the back of his head told him it would all turn on him.

He didn’t like being smiled at. Anderson’s bright white teeth all in a perfect row.

Gavin squeezed his eyes shut and pulled his jacket closer around his body; it didn’t help. He hunched his shoulders and ducked his head, wanting to be anywhere but at work where anyone with enough authority and strength could swoop down upon him.

His throat tightened and he coughed.

His lungs were empty.

He’d made a mistake.

Never should have asked Anderson for help.

Never accepted Ben’s gift.

They were coming.

His eyes darted at the restrooms across the bullpen—too far. They’d see him. But—

_Don’t you dare run, you little coward. You break down now, what’s the point of you?_

His nerves stretched taunt. He fumbled in his pockets for the necklace. It was gone. 

Resigned, he blankly started typing on his terminal. It was nonsense, but he had to do something that looked like work. Just until the bullpen emptied out a little more. Then he could escape into the breakroom for some coffee or something.

\--

A few hours later.

“Hey, Reed.”

Gavin looked up from draining the last drop from his coffee. _Captain!_ “Yessir?”

Captain Fowler’s face was stern, but his eyes were red. “Anderson’s having a family emergency; I need everyone to pull double-shifts.”

“I’m already working a double-shift—

“THEN WORK A TRIPLE!” Fowler slammed his fist against the desk. “Anderson’s just lost his kid. I think you can handle a little overtime.”

“...his kid? When?”

Fowler’s voice broke a little. “Just a bit ago. Some truck on 7th street, we think it slid on the ice. D—mn red ice...”

Gavin’s brow furrowed. “The driver was high?”

“Reed, just focus on your work.” The captain’s hand came down on Gavin’s shoulder and clenched it as if Fowler was a drowning man. “Anderson’s gonna take this hard. I need you to keep up with the casework. Ben is temporarily taking over the red ice taskforce so you need to take on Ben’s caseload until we can get another detective in.”

Gavin nodded. “Yeah. I’ll do that.” He waited until Fowler left again and then typed frantically on his computer. It didn’t take long to find the report.

_10 11 2035. Cole Anderson. Accidental death. Wreck. TOD between 10 and midnight._

Gavin checked the traffic patterns, the traffic cameras, everything.

No matter how he looked at it—if the lieutenant had left when he’d wanted to, he would have missed meeting that red truck.

Gavin didn’t remember much of that evening. He filed the Alexandra case as an accident and moved to the next case.

A man had killed his ex’s newborn by dropping it down the stairwell at her workplace. All those little bones...

Gavin stood up, stretched languidly and sauntered off to the old conference room in the back of the building. Technically, that section of the building was closed off for renovations, but apparently that plan got stalled somewhere because the renovation never came.

He pushed open the door and crossed the musty, carpeted and unlit room to the far corner, where he could still see the door, and leaned against the wall, slid down, pulled his knees up, drew his hood over his head, dropped his face into his hands and wept as quietly as he knew how.

A red light illuminated the dark room. Gavin lifted his head only slightly, half hoping and half dreading to see someone.

A LED shone in the dark hallway and the politely warm face of an android stared at him.

Gavin scowled. “The phck you want?” 

The android hurried away. Gavin looked down at the gun in his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

Holding his gun in that old, cold conference room was a thoughtless memory without feeling, like looking at a photograph from a stranger’s life. Gavin couldn’t even remember his intentions that night for drawing the weapon.

He brushed his fingertips over his temple. The touch was cold; cold like the first kiss of a gun barrel before it steals the warmth for itself, leaving the body cold.

_I was just....startled by that android. Or I was checking the safety. Yeah. Checking the safety..._

That’s what he told himself every time the memory randomly flicked to the forefront of his thoughts. Usually, it came and went, leaving him in a clammy sweat. But this time, it stayed. It expanded. Every detail of the weapon vibrant. Every blemish, and scratch. 

_D—mmit. Stop._ He pressed harder against his temple and then dragged a cracked nail down and around to the back of his ear; the rough edge and pressure easily cut through the thin, tender skin out of sight. The barely-there pain chased away the old image of the gun and its flat memory.

Gavin swiped away the tiny dribble of red and wiped his hands on his pants, picking the stained nail clean. He cracked his knuckles and squared himself to the desk.

_Focus on the case._ He pulled at his jacket and crossed his arms. _Focus._

He’d been glaring at the screen for some minutes—thoughts blank—when his phone rang. He blinked and rubbed his eyes before answering. “Gavin Reed, homicide.”

“We got a body out here.”

“F—k.” After getting the address, Gavin ended the call with a bad-tempered comment on the caller’s intelligence and slid the phone into his pocket. _I’m never gonna get this crap done._ With a last look at the photos of the dead homeless man, he stifled a yawn and headed for the exit. He set his hand against the glass door to push it open instead of waiting for the slow automatic system.

_What the...hell?_

The mirror image of his hand, his body and his eyes stared through the glass; the replica’s hand firmly pressed against the door, holding it shut against him. Its translucent palm cold against his own.

Concern fluttered at the edge of his mind. _Something’s wrong._ The exhaustion, the weird dreams, the malaise, and the apathy creeping into his bones and muscles. _It’s wrong. Get help._ The first syllable of Chris’ name clicked off his tongue, but a louder whisper hissed:

_YOU’RE wrong. Don’t let them find out. You’ll go back to working in the junkyard!_

Gavin snapped his mouth shut, biting his tongue until he tasted the tang of blood. He swallowed the thickness along with the aborted plea.

“You say something, boss?” Chris half-turned in his chair as he continued to type out a report. When Gavin didn’t answer, Chris stopped typing and turned fully. “Reed?”

“Phck off.” Gavin snarled at the haggard man staring at him through the glass and shoved the door open, dispelling the image and the voices. _I got this._

Chris waited until the sergeant was gone before he let out a deep sigh. Did Gavin even know how stressful he made the workplace? The man created tension like a set rattrap.

\--

Only the GPS remembered the drive to the scene. The tired detective directed his car around the circular drive onehandedly, the other arm propped against the side of the door, hand fisted against his cheek.

The ornamental shrubbery illuminated and faded into the dark as his headlights passed over it. First responders turned into silhouettes against the strobing lights of police cars and a battered fire engine. An ambulance drifted past his passenger window, dark, slow and silent.

Gavin jolted and slammed on the brakes when he rolled over a curb, garnering askance looks from a few officers. Wordlessly, he shut off the engine and left the car as it was, one tire on the walkway.

What did it matter anyhow? Flipping off anyone who was still staring, he strode toward the house.

\--

Intermittently cast in color and shadow by the flashing police lights, Gavin, shoulders hunched and hands deep in his pockets, strode through the soft, molding leaves that covered the malformed brick walkway leading up to the mansion’s open door. He glared at the roots poking through the upheaved bricks.

Without bothering to wipe his feet, he entered the house. “I’m here!” He called. “Where’s the mess?” He demanded as he grabbed a set of plastic shoe covers and leaned against the wall to keep balanced while he fitted the plastic over his shoes.

“Upstairs.” A voice answered.

\--

With heavy steps, Gavin climbed the narrow staircase up to the attic. “Move.” He ordered the CSU member who was vacuuming the steps near the top of the staircase. Without waiting, Gavin shouldered the thin woman aside.

She squeaked in alarm as she fell against the wall. Off balance, her foot slipped. And with her hands full of the little vacuum— she had too much college debt to afford to lose her job over lost evidence—she couldn’t catch herself. Chill fear squeezed her stomach and she spat a curse against the rude officer.

A firm tug on the back of her suit jerked her backwards, and instead of falling forward she sat down hard; her teeth clacked painfully. She turned as well as she could in the bulky uniform, vacuum clasped against her chest. But the sergeant was gone.

\--

Gavin shielded his eyes against the bright lamps set up around the attic and opted for turning his head rather than his aching eyes. He scratched at his ear as he took in the scene.

For an attic, it was clean. Gavin’s steps echoed dully in the space. It looked like a well-kept studio rather than a storage space. _Who the hell would live up in an attic when they got a whole house?_

A bed, covered in rumpled purple sheets, was set against the far wall, a few cityscape posters decorated the walls, and a thick area rug covered the floor by the small circular window. On the rug was the body.

She—it was dressed in oversized clothes, but Gavin’s trained eye could see the unnatural contortions in the limbs. _Seizure? Poison?_ He noted the scorch marks on the outstretched hand. _Electrocution?_ The whole thing stank of burned hair and flesh.

Some half-formed thought rose to his mind, but it disappeared as soon as it touched his wounded tongue. The dash of pain sent it away. So instead of the usual bad jokes and dark humor, the attending officers saw the sergeant wince and crouch next to the body.

“ID?” Gavin muttered as he pulled on a pair of gloves and examined the blistered skin on the body.

“Helen Tyne. Age 20—

“Who?”

“Helen Tyne.”

_Helen._

“T.Y.N.E.?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

_Do you remember?_

“She got a sister?”

“Uh. I don’t—

“What use are you?” Gavin snapped as he accessed the database on his phone. He glared at the screen.

_Alex Tyne. Accidental death. Electrocution. Deceased October 05 2035. Lead Detective: Reed, Gavin._

_And now the sister?_

\--

Gavin sat at his desk. He didn’t remember the rest of that night. He must’ve did his work because here were the files and the report and the statements from family and friends and witnesses. All ready for his signature. He skimmed over the statements.

‘Helen was a good girl.’

‘Helen was upset about her sister, but she was moving on.’

‘She was smart. She wouldn’t accidently electrocute herself.’

‘We loved Helen.’

‘Someone did this to her.’

‘She didn’t have any enemies.’

‘Everyone liked her.’

‘She had a future.’

Gavin cupped his chin in his hand. All twenty years of a human life boiled into a since report: _Helen Tyne. Accidental death. Electrocution. Deceased October 05 20—._

And that was the end of it. Or at least it should have been. Apparently, according to his report, the parents had refused to accept that the death was accidental. They wanted a murder investigation.

Which, of course, Gavin had refused to commit to with ‘the investigation is ongoing.’ Rather polite, if he said so himself. Apparently, he turned into a professional when his brain was shut off.

He chuckled. The chuckle turned into a bark of laughter. “F—k it. I’m done.” He clapped his hands and powered down his terminal. “I’m out.” He told Chris who’d turned to stare at him.

Gavin laughed again. “If anyone needs me, tell ‘em I died.” He flicked the side of Chris’ head as he walked past.

\--

At his apartment, Gavin read the label on the bottle of sleeping pills he’d picked up on the way from work. This whole no-concentration thing was getting just a tad out of hand.

_Everyone keeps saying to get more sleep..._

He hummed and leaned against the counter while he thoroughly read the label without comprehending its meanings. He just wanted to know the maximum safe dosage. _Blah, blah, blah._ He scanned the list of warnings. “Well, duh, it’s gonna make me drowsy. Ehhhh.....blah blah....they all say the same crap. Just all means ‘don’t sue us if you die from our crappy drugs’.”

He screwed off the lid, shook some of the little fix-its into his hand, and swallowed them.

“Great.” He spun his fingers through his hair and flopped onto his couch. “Problem solved.”


	5. Chapter 5

10 07 20—

“......another complaint against you.” Captain Fowler wound up the last of his lecture to the sergeant slouched in the office chair. The man made no acknowledgement of the information. “Reed.”

“Okay.”

Fowler narrowed his eyes and flattened his steepled hands against the desk with enough of a slap that the younger man startled and stared at the captain, the fog in his eyes proving he hadn’t heard a word of what the officer had said for the past thirty minutes. The scowl was right, but it came slowly and lacked strength and after a moment disappeared under a tired frown.

Fowler didn’t mind Gavin not fighting him every other word. But the last time Reed was this shut down was after his foster cat died. Something no one found out about until a month after the fact during a gossip session during a personnel meeting. Not that the captain made it his business to be up to date on his officers’ personal lives. And certainly not their charity case pets.

But Gavin did look spacey and a little pale which made the shadows under his dull eyes stand out more. And Fowler did feel a bit of remorse for not knowing about the whole cat thing. “Is everything okay?” Unused to asking the friendly question of Mr. I’m-on-Fire-But-I’m-Fine, it came out harsh and slightly accusatory.

The detective shrugged. “You tell me.” He rubbed his scuffed knuckles absently. “What’s the frickin’ complaint say?”

Fowler studied the younger officer. Deciding to play ‘good cop’ to the bitter end, he shook his head. “We’ll talk about it later.” He leaned back and picked up a tablet which he waved at Reed. “Go home. Get some rest. Come back when you’re ready to work.”

Gavin slouched lower; his hood bunched up around his neck. “I will. I will. Just. I jus’ need t’finish few things.” He tapped the bottom of the desk with his foot. “‘sides how’m I ‘posed to sleep thinkin’ ‘bout suspension?”

Well, if Gavin didn’t want to take advantage of the captain’s attempt to be nice, then Fowler wasn’t going to force the issue. “Same old sh—t, Reed. Unprofessional attitude and excessive force.”

Gavin was staring into the middle distance. 

“Reed.”

“I...guess so. Suspended?”

“...No.”

“Oh. Then everythin’s fine.” Gavin stood up, shuffling his shoulders to resettle his jacket and pulled at the hood to straighten it. Fingers through his hair and he apparently thought he was fit for public viewing as he moved to exit the office. He paused, hand on the door. “Do ya know when Anderson’s comin’ back t’work?”

Fowler looked up, a question in his eye. “Is he not?”

“Huh?” Gavin swung the door between his hands creating a draft that threatened to blow away Fowler’s loose papers and his temper.

The captain grit his teeth and pointed across the bullpen to where Hank and Connor were working.

Gavin squinted. “Oh.” He pressed his forehead against the glass. “Huh.” He moved to leave.

Fowler scowled at an email on his tablet. “Hold up. Where’s that case on the John Doe? You close it yet?”

“Uh...” Gavin rubbed his face. “Not yet.”

“Why? Something suspicious about it?”

Shrug.

“Have you even looked at it?”

Nod.

“So what’s the problem?”

Shrug.

“Shrug at me again, and I’ll dislocate your d—mn arms. Stop f—ing around, finish you work, and get some sleep! The hell, Gavin! I shouldn’t have to waste time telling you to do your job and to take care of yourself! Take some d—mn responsibility!”

“’kay.”

Once Gavin was gone, Fowler typed out a response to the commissioner, making excuses for the delay for the John Doe and Tyne cases. He never blamed his officers and he especially tried to keep Reed’s name from crossing anyone’s desk, but if the sergeant didn’t pull his act together, people were going to start looking into the cases out of curiosity. And Reed presented too much of a tempting target for anyone looking for an easy scapegoat for anything going wrong.

\--

_Take responsibility._

Gavin’s finger hovered over the submit button for the reports. _Accidental death._

_Wrong. You’re wrong._

He dropped his head into his hands. _Maybe I am just tired still._

Apparently it took longer to catch up on sleep than a half day. Gavin snuck a look around the bullpen. The evening shift was in full swing, Connor and Hank seemed to be working on something important; they’d been in and out of interrogations all day.

_I guess these losers can survive without me_.

Some food, some more sleep...maybe everything would make sense then. Things could go back to normal. Gavin rubbed his eyes again.

“What Chris?” He snapped. He could always tell when the young cop was dithering about saying something to him—usually some crap about ‘oh, you should sleep more’ or ‘oh, you shouldn’t drink so much coffee.’ _As if I’M the only one around here addicted to coffee and not sleeping. Never see anyone ELSE gettin’ crap for it._

_Because everyone else isn’t such a useless failure. THEY can actually close cases without making a thousand mistakes along the way._

“Don’t lose your mind, but...can I drive you home?” Chris asked, keeping his voice low but casual so their conversation didn’t attract attention. “You really shouldn’t be driving when you’re tired.”

_Ah. Chris._

_How long before you’re dead too?_

Gavin thoughtlessly downed the cold coffee someone had left on his desk. “Wide awake now.” His grin cracked his dry lips. “Don’t need Chris.” He stood up, stretched and then dropped his arms and let them swing boneless at his sides. “No big deal. ’m only like ten ‘r fifteen mins ’way.”

He ignored the unfiled John Doe and Helen Tyne cases. He’d deal with those later. The closer he got to the idea of sleeping, the more alluring it was. _That’s right. Just tired. It’s fine. Nothin’ a few more sleeping pills won’t solve._

Get to the apartment, kick off his shoes—Gavin leaned down and grabbed his backpack from under the desk—get something from the freezer...or maybe just a protein bar. He swore when he struck his head on the underside of his desk.

“Boss...” Chris started, but shut his mouth at the glare Reed shot him.

“Leave. Me. The. Phck. Alone.”

The cop put his hands up and went back to work.

Satisfied that Chris got the message, Gavin strode out, rubbing his head and ruffling his hair even more.

He would curl up on the couch, his soft, soft couch with his squishy pillow, shut the blackout curtains...cram his earbuds in and let the drugs fold him up in as deep a sleep as chemically possible.

Everything would be fine in the morning.

\--

Meanwhile...

The DPD’s receptionist—going by the name Moneypenny this week—eyed the couple who’d just entered the lobby. The six foot man looked like an old fitness trainer, but in the baggy suit he looked like a retired hitman who’d let himself go. The woman, his wife judging by the band on her finger, was petite and well-dressed in kitten-heels and a geometrically patterned dress.

Moneypenny tried to scan the woman’s large tote bag. She hated tote bags; especially tote bags filled with yappy dogs. But nothing registered as dangerous or yappy. She set the can of pepper spray back in its cubby under the counter alongside the rest of her public-defense-arsenal.

The couple walked up to her. “Hello.” The woman said.

“Can I help you?” Moneypenny demanded more than asked. So many people brought all their problems to her as if they expected the DPD to drop what it was doing and help them on the instant. Not once had Moneypenny seen anyone walk through those doors just to say ‘thanks.’ _Ungrateful wretches._

Well, except that one time when a gangly pre-teen had walked in with a plate of cookies. And everyone thought it was a gang threat of some sort. The poor kid had to fully explain himself to a skeptical Lieutenant Anderson twice before making the suspicious cops understand that he was trying to show a little gratitude because he’d seen a video of cops rescuing a kitten from a storm drain.

Which was awkward because then Anderson had to explain that it was the Detroit Fire Department who’d rescued that kitten. 

‘Oh,’ the kid had said. ‘Then what do you guys do?’

And of course Gavin—who’d apparently skipped several meals—had to open his big mouth with an inane comment; and Moneypenny spent the rest of the week fielding calls from the PTA and PETA and the mayor’s office regarding why the DPD was telling children the DPD ate stray cats.

“Excuse me, miss?” The woman said in a polite tone to the distracted receptionist. “I need to speak to...what was his name?” She turned to her husband.

“Detective-sergeant Gavin Reed.” The giant man said. “It’s urgent.”

Moneypenny reeled in her short temper; androids could be hired now, but that also meant that they could be fired just as easily—a fact that many unscrupulous employers used to remove androids from their payroll. Not that Captain Fowler would do such a thing. He was actually, in Moneypenny’s limited experience, what she might call a ‘good boss.’

“Names, please?”

“Why do you need our names?” The woman asked.

“Security purposes.” Moneypenny said with a sweet smile and head tilt.

“Well, I don’t think I have to give—

“Honey,” the man said with a gentle touch to her arm, “just tell her who we are. They’re going to find out anyway.”

Moneypenny stared at the sides of their faces until they finished.

“Mr. and Mrs. Tyne.” The woman said, slightly flushed and brushing a strand of grey hair behind her ear.

“One minute.” Moneypenny checked Reed’s schedule for witness interviews, interrogations, and his more generalized ‘I’m doin’ sh—t don’t bother me’ requests. Apparently, he’d just clocked out for the evening with a ‘leave me the f—k alone’ request.

“I’m sorry.” She said in a tone that would have made her original programming ashamed, “Detective Reed is unavail—

The glass doors to the bullpen swung open.

Moneypenny glared at the scruffy detective who’d just come through, backpack slung over one shoulder and his keys in his other hand, clearly on his way out for the day.

Could he have waited one more minute and NOT complicate her life? Couldn’t he see she was trying to help him here?

Gavin’s gaze moved from the peeved receptionist to the couple. He waved his hand at the android as he strode past. “’m out.”

“Detective Reed.” Mr. Tyne said moving from his wife’s side to stand in front of Gavin who jerked back as if surprised to find a block of human in his way.

The detective was off-balance, half-leaning forward and half-angled away from the man. “Do I have to be polite to these old clowns?” Gavin pointed at the man and looked at the receptionist.

She shrugged. “Do you want a reprimand?”

Gavin huffed a sigh and turned back to face the guests, sorting out his stance and adjusting the backpack on his shoulder without surrendering any ground to the man invading his space. “T’hell you people want?”

“Don’t you know who we are?”

The detective rolled his eyes and sighed. He pointed to the lady and then to the man. “Mr. and Mrs. F—

He yelped when the man grabbed his outstretched arm and hurled him to the ground with far more strength than his aged frame and wrinkled suit suggested he possessed. 

“F—ing PIG!”

Caught off guard, Gavin rolled and tried to get to his feet, but thick cold, red, and sticky liquid sloshed over him along with a flood of cursing and swearing. “You killed my daughters!”

Gavin’s hand slipped in the red liquid, something heavy crashed down on his neck, and sharp pain exploded in his head.

\--

When she first saw the man grab Gavin, Moneypenny slammed the alarm under her counter and vaulted the desk. But she was not fast enough to stop the couple from upending the tote bag over Gavin and covering him in what looked like blood. By the time Moneypenny reached the scene, the husband had the detective’s neck pinned underfoot and the wife had kicked him in the head and was screeching like a harpy. 

Moneypenny grabbed the screaming woman by the hair and hurled her aside. Then she spun and shoulder rammed the husband and followed up with a heel kick that sent him reeling to land on the floor next to his wife.

The field cleared, the receptionist stood over Gavin, who had curled and covered his head with his arms, but had yet to move again. She pointed a large revolver, the one she kept next to the pepper spray, at the couple. “DON’T F—ING MOVE!” She screamed, easily out shouting them. “OR I’LL BLOW YOUR F—ING HEADS OFF!”

By now the bullpen’s denizens had burst into the lobby—which had cleared of civilians at the sight of the crazy android with the cannon-sized pistol. Half the officers took control of the enraged couple who were still screeching threats and hatred at the detective who’d handled their daughters’ cases.

“He killed her! It’s his fault the killer got away the first time!”

Hank strode over to Moneypenny who was snarling at everyone who came near Gavin, pointing the gun first at one person and then another. “Back off!” She shouted. “No one touches him!”

“Shhh. Moneypenny, you did good.” The lieutenant said, holding his hands out. “We got ‘em. Give me the gun, sweetheart.”

“Huh?....Lieutenant...” Recognizing the voice of her favorite person, the android lowered the gun. “Why’d they do that?” She clasped the gun against her chest, rocking it like a child. “Why’d they do that?” She tried to look down, but Hank caught her gently under the chin to keep her from looking at the mess of blood and Gavin’s worryingly limp form.

“People get upset and lash out.” He stepped aside so Connor could kneel next to the blood-soaked detective. “C’mon,” Hank gave up on getting the gun back and gripped the receptionist’s elbows, “Let’s move so we can get help to Reed.”

Moneypenny looked down and covered her mouth with her hands, inadvertently pointing the gun at Hank’s face. The trained policeman quickly disarmed her and all but shoved the weapon at Chris whose kind face was distorted with disgust and worry.

Ben joined Connor on the floor next to Gavin who looked like he was finally coming around. Ben kept a hand against the younger man’s back, encouraging him to stay still until someone checked him for injuries. “Stay still for a minute.”

“How is he?” Hank asked over his shoulder while he kept himself between the mess and their receptionist who kept asking ‘Why’d they do that?’

“I don’t think he’s hurt badly.” Ben said as he wiped blood away from Gavin’s face and neck. He grimaced at the welt over Gavin’s eye where a kick had landed. “But we should get an EMT to check for a concussion. He’s got a lot of bruising on his neck—should monitor that for swelling. Connor, is this blood what I think it is?”

“Commercial pig’s blood.” Connor’s LED was spinning a rapid red. “He is bruised and shaken, but I do not detect any damage requiring medical attention.” He stared at Gavin, LED still red despite the good news.

\--

Gavin tried twice to get to his feet only to be pressed back. “T-the hell?” His vision was dull around the edges and shapes had afterimages. He shook his head and winced, moving his hand to his ringing head. He stopped and stared at the blood covered hand. “I...”

_Murderer._

A big soft hand enclosed the gruesome one. “Hold still.”

_Ben?_

The older man’s other hand, Gavin realized, was on his face, wiping it with something cold and wet. Gavin swatted away the damp paper towel. “’m’fine.” He tucked his hands under his arms as he wobbled to his feet.

Connor and Ben rose with him both with concerned faces as they reached out to steady him. Gavin adamantly twisted and jerked to avoid both. He glared at everyone even if they were out of focus. “What the phck y’ll starin’ at?”

Behind him, Hank nodded and gestured for everyone to return to their posts and to get the manic couple put into holding. “Gavin—

“PHCK OFF!” Gavin nearly slipped in the slick puddle around him; he flung his arms out for balance. “D—mmit! Connor! STOPPIT!”

Every time he staggered into Connor, he thought the android was deliberately touching him, then he’d jerked and lose his balance in the other direction and encounter Ben who tried to catch Gavin’s arm, but the sergeant pulled away, elbowing Hank in the chest.

Seeing that the younger man was on the verge of a panic attack, Hank slammed open the glass lobby doors and stood aside, opening an exit for Gavin back to the bullpen.

Wounded pride seared Gavin’s mind and brought back a degree of focus.

Gavin snarled and turned his back to the doors and glared around the lobby, dragging harsh breaths into his struggling lungs until his scattered mind found the words he wanted.

“Mr. and Mrs. Tyne,” he hissed. “you are under arrest for ‘sault an’ battery ‘gainst a police officer, property damage, an’ fer resistin’ arrest. The rest of ya get back t’work. Chris read ‘em their rights. ‘m goin’ to git this sh—t off. Outta m’way!” The last was snapped at Hank for good measure even though the man was well out of his way.

\--

After a quick shower, oddly cold, Gavin changed into an old sweatshirt and a pair of jeans he found in the back of his locker. His rinsed clothes hung from the locker showerhead, dripping with a steady and echoed ‘plick-plick...plick.....plick-plick....plick’.

Eyes shut, he leaned against the locker; his forehead pressed hard against the metal while water trickled down his face and neck from his still wet hair.

He should go back upstairs; write up his statement. But he was just. So. Tired.

_F—ing pig!_

He drew in a shuddering breath and thunked his head against the locker. Pain stabbed through his skull. 

_Killed my daughters! Why’d you let them die! Gonna f—k you up! You’re supposed to protect people!_

_You let a psycho kill my babies! You were wrong and they paid for it! They’re dead because of you!_

_What’s the point of you?_

_You’re wrong._ Gavin thunked his head harder against the metal as if he could knock the revolving thoughts loose. Fracture them into harmless pieces and sweep them away into the dark corners of his mind. _You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re w—_

“D—MMIT!” He punched the locker, not caring about his split knuckles. He punched it again with his other hand and then slouched against the locker, forearms braced against the unfeeling metal and his face buried between his arms, breathing heavily, sucking air into his increasingly tight chest.

The smell of sandalwood wafted around him.

The locker room’s damp and humid air seemed to freeze in his throat. Gavin spun around, fists up.

Winters stood there, dressed in his perfect uniform, arms crossed and a thin smile on his curved lips.

Gavin shook his head and blinked. The man was still there.

_No, he isn’t._ The thought forced its way through the fog. _Yes he is._

“You’re dead.”

Winters smirked and straightened his tie. “Come here, boy. Let’s see that scar up close.” He put a foot on the bench and leaned forward.

Exactly what he’d said the first time they’d met.

“They say the repair work is obvious if you get a good enough look at it.”

Gavin shook his head, fingers twitching as he backed away, unconsciously brushing his hand against his face. “You’re dead. This is just a screwed up....thing. Figment. That’s it. Side-effect.” He jerked his head harshly side to side and winced at the renewed pounding the motion caused. “Too many d—mn pills....gotta....fix the dose...”

He turned to walk away, one hand on the wall for balance.

“Don’t f—ing walk away from ME!” The unseen man shouted. “You little b—ch!”

Hot with anger, Gavin turned around. “You. Don’t tell ME what t’do!”

His shout echoed in an empty room. All he saw was his reflection in the mirror. He pressed a fist against his mouth, biting his bloody knuckles. He stepped toward the mirror.

It was true.

The repair work was obvious.

Gavin traced a finger along the old wound; his mirror image did the same, leaving a red trail. From his eye, across his nose, to the corner of his lip.

_F—ing pig!_

He slammed his already bloodied fists against the counter. _Let’s see that scar._

_Look at you. Look. At. You. Boy-detective. How did you get your promotion?_

Gavin looked up. Winters stood behind him, but the man’s body had changed. Toned muscles became flaccid and the body bloated to twice its size, tearing through the ruined uniform, fluids oozed and dripped from pores and orifices. The once handsome face turned sunken and rotten. The eyes rolled loose in their sockets.

The swollen purple tongue hanging between the teeth couldn’t possibly make noises, but the voice was clear in Gavin’s head. _Erase the mistake._

The image of the gun flashed twice into his mind. Twice more and then stayed.

Gavin opened his eyes and stared at his reflection in the mirror; his own weapon tucked into his neck and chin at the perfect killing angle. No mistakes.

Why did it feel familiar? Practiced?

_You killed me._ A little boy’s voice chimed in his head. The same voice he’d overheard on Anderson’s phone those years ago. _You killed me._ Echoed the voices of two young women.

_Why’d you let them die! You’re supposed to protect people!_

_You let a psycho kill babies! You were wrong and they paid for it! They’re dead because of you! Every year you live, more people die!_

CLICK

Gun in one hand, clip in the other, Gavin leaned against the counter, head bowed as he pulled in messy, deep breaths that hissed and rattled. “Pull it together, Detective Reed.” He snapped breathlessly.

“Gavin?” The soft voice came from the locker room entrance.

Startled, Gavin swung around, fumbling to load the clip back into his weapon. “S-sh—t.” The clip clattered onto the tile and spun under the sink. He dropped to one knee to grab it, slammed the clip into the pistol, and brought the weapon up ready to fire. His vision swam. He blinked hard to clear it. Through the blur a familiar form materialized. Connor holding his backpack.

“F-f---in’....WHAT?!” Gavin swung the gun away. “You tryin’ to get shot?!” He tried to stand, but had to grab the edge of the counter to keep his balance. “The hell, tinman? Creepin’ around fer?”

Concern and fear were written across the android’s expressive face. One hand fiddled at his tie, the other was clenched at his side, fingers tangled in the carrying strap. “What were you doing?” Connor stared at the gun.

“Nothin’.” Gavin focused on disarming the weapon, acting as casual as he knew how while his fingers slipped repeatedly. “What’dya want?”

Connor stepped closer. “What were you doing?” He repeated; both hands were fists now; the backpack forgotten at his feet.

Gavin’s back pressed against the counter and he refused to meet the android’s eyes. “I said nothin’. You deaf?”

“What were you doing with that?” Connor pointed to the gun.

“Cleaning it you moron.” Gavin laughed. He pushed away from the counter and walked past the android, jabbing the empty weapon into the android’s shoulder and shoving him back. “You got any oil on you?” Breathing an intermittent chuckle, he snatched up his backpack and shouldered it. With an aggravated groan, he strode over to his sopping wet clothes and shoved them into a plastic sack he kept in his backpack for such emergencies. Then he moved to leave the locker rooms.

Connor flung out his arm, blocking Gavin’s path. The man stared at the blockade and then at Connor; a slow scowl crossed his face. “Move.”

“Don’t kill yourself.”

The sergeant froze; his eyes were dark and he stared at Connor. “The phck you say?”

“Please.” Connor bit his lip until it was a light blue. “I-I know we aren’t always....I mean....that you....we....I...I just don’t want you to be gone.” The android’s LED spun red and yellow.

Gavin’s barking laugh echoed in the locker room. “Dramatic.” He clicked the last syllable. “Move.”

Connor didn’t move.

Annoyed, Gavin downward chopped at Connor’s arm, but didn’t strike it full force—he’d broken his hand doing that once. “Move.” He repeated and pushed against Connor’s unwavering arm.

The android detective looked pointedly at Gavin’s hands. “What happened there?”

Gavin dropped his hands and wiped them on his pants. “Got in a fight with the phckin’ lockers.”

“Are you okay?” Connor insisted. “After what happened upstairs?”

“Yeah. Had worse.” Giving up on moving the android’s arm, Gavin gripped it and swung himself under. He turned and smirked. “Much worse.”

Connor pursed his lips and then followed. “You’d tell me if something was wrong?”

Gavin didn’t have the energy to insult the android’s concern anymore. “Yes, Connor.” He held the door and flapped a hand. “Now shut the hell up and get to work.”

Connor followed, but instead of exiting he grabbed Gavin’s wrist in a tight grip. An undefined fear made him impulsive with the need to hold Gavin—to not let the man out of his sight.

“The phckin’ hell?” Wide-eyed, Gavin pulled away, losing his balance and almost falling as he tripped over his feet. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“You’ve been acting strange all week. Staring at nothing.” Connor’s voice grew more stressed. “You haven’t taken Chris with you anywhere. You haven’t even been to the break room, you don’t.....prowl around like you usually do and cause mayhem. And...and you have high amounts of doxylamine succinate, dextrorphan, and levorphanol—

Gavin had a hand pressed against his face; the litany of unfamiliar words aggravated his increasing frustration. “Imma say this once...Shut...up.”

“You’re scaring me.” Connor didn’t let go even as he felt Gavin tensing under his touch. “What’s going on?”

If he hadn’t been so focused on Gavin’s unfocused eyes, Connor would have seen the fist before it slammed into his chest, the force behind the blow sent him to his knees.

“Why don’t you don’t stalk me and concentrate on ya own d—mn life!” Gavin walked out and slammed the door.

It swung open again and Gavin popped his head in. “Hey, plastic cop,”

Connor looked up, hopeful.

Gavin made a finger gun and pointed it at Connor, mock firing an imaginary bullet into the android’s head. Then he turned the pretend weapon on himself and did the same, jerking his head backward in grotesque mimicry. With an ugly sneer he snapped off the lights and slammed the door again, leaving Connor in the dark with only dented lockers, dripping faucets, and a red LED for company.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings so many warnings for this chapter. No joy no happiness. All is sad. Cliffhanger. See end notes.

10 07 20—

\--

9PM

Safe in his apartment and away from the public eye, Gavin’s fingers shook freely as he ran them through his damp hair while he waited for the microwave to finish heating water. He blinked.

_Why’m I boiling water?_

A smashed box of herbal tea sat on the counter. Curious, he picked it up. The cheerful matron pictured on the back of the box seemed confident that her ‘special blend’ would help him sleep without chemicals or artificial hormones.

_The hell? How the phck is it supposed to work?_

Alongside the box was a paper plate filled with round crackers spread thick with peanut butter and jelly.

A glimmer of what might have been happiness or at least not-misery flickered in his chest. He didn’t know why or when he’d decided on tea, and he didn’t remember making the plate of peanut butter and jelly crackers.

But jelly was delicious.

He picked one of the low budget desserts up and nibbled at it as he felt the side of a bowl of chili sitting on the cold stove. Lukewarm. _Meh...doesn’t look good anyway._

He picked out another cracker. Fine crumbs dropped to the floor for the tiny ants that were already parading around the kitchen like it was their own personal restaurant.

He’d have to deal with them later, but not now. Their orderly march and simple productivity gave his brain something to latch onto that wasn’t a disorganized casefile filled with mistakes.

The heavy stench of rot and sandalwood wafted in the apartment’s cool air and sullied the after shower freshness of unscented soap. A pair of polished black shoes edged into the corner of his vision. The ants crawled over it.

“Hey there, Gav.” A cold hand brushed his neck.

The loud scratchy buzz of a fly sounded in his ear; the large black insect landed on his hand and then on his half-eaten cracker. It moved in jerky, buzzing hops over the food.

Gavin’s half-eaten dinner landed peanut butter side down on the dirty floor. “Phck.” He ripped his gaze from the mess and stared through the microwave’s protected glass and stared as the water in the chipped mug boiled over. _Not real._

The fly crawled into the drain and buzzed loudly out of sight.

Nausea rose in his throat. He slammed the paper plate and crackers into the fridge, stuffed the chili in the oven, and tossed the herbal tea box into a random cupboard.

“How’d you get your promotion?”

_Don’t answer. Don’t answer._

The microwave dinged and Gavin retrieved the mug. Holding it in his fingertips, he took a deep breath and turned around.

The little kitchenette was empty.

Except for—

_Nothing. It’s nothing._

His mouth twisted scornfully and he brought the cup of hot water to the couch and set it on the beat up coffee table. And with a groan, he curled into his nest of pillows and blankets. Earbuds in, he turned up the cityscape sounds on his player to tune out the tinnitus. He cuddled himself down, trying to force sleep to come, but he could only toss and turn, sick with vertigo and oppressive memories.

The normally quieting effect of the soundscape track was replaced by a hostile city filled with nameless bodies, hidden weapons, and lurking shadows.

The soothing hum of distant traffic turned into blaring horns, screeching brakes and shattering glass and crunching metal.

A little boy’s broken body rolled across the red glass and bits of snapped fiberglass.

Sightless eyes stared at Gavin.

The exhausted detective woke soaked in sweat, heart racing, and a painful cramp in his back.

He trekked to the bathroom to look for his OTCs. _Why did I not take them in the first place?_

Nothing. Gone.

A crushed bottle sat on the top of the overflowing bin. When had he finished them?

He returned to the couch and curled up, knees to chest. Put in his earbuds, pressed his palms against his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. _Just sleep. It’s not that hard. You’re a detective not some baby. Why can’t you do this one easy thing?_

But his head was too filled with commotion like distant radio chatter.

He lay awake for hours until heavy exhaustion finally crushed an achy numbness over his limbs and brain. And he stretched out his cramped legs and crooked an arm over his face while the other draped around his midsection. His ragged breathing evened out and the tension eased from his body.

\--

“Detective Reed.”

Gavin squirmed deeper into his blankets and pillow. “Mm’pkffff.” He grumbled into the plushy softness around his head. His arms curled tighter around the black cat in his dream, burying his face into the soft fur.

“Detective Reed. I’m cold.”

Groggy with sleep, Gavin rolled over and found himself staring into the mangled face of a bloody child dressed in a ripped and torn school uniform. His little chest was ripped open, white ribs gaped at him, and an android in stained green scrubs stood behind the boy, gleaming scalpel in hand. LED red.

“I broke the baby.” The android’s mechanical voice screeched. “I broke the baby.”

\--

10 08 20—

7am

He went to work earlier than usual. No sense in being at the apartment if he was just going to have to deal with nightmares.

Gavin stared at the flower arrangement of large red, stringy looking flowers on his desk. “The hell is this?” He demanded, rubbing his eyes as if that would erase the nightmarish looking bouquet.

“I don’t know, boss.” Chris said. “It was there when I came in. Got a secret admirer?”

“Doubt it.” Holding the card by the edges, Gavin pulled off the little tag clipped to the side.

‘Die F—king murdering PIG rot in hell—

He didn’t read the rest. “Log it in evidence against those Tyne people.” He muttered.

Chris’ head shot up, worry on his face. “What?” He’d been surprised by the arrangement, but he hadn’t thought—

“Just get it outta here.” Gavin strode away. Maybe the evidence room would be less stressful.

_\--_

He came back up a half-hour later. The flowers were gone, but Connor and Hank had arrived.

_Don’t kill yourself._

_I don’t want you to be gone._

He heard the words every time Connor looked at him. They were nice things to say.

_Huh. Nice words from an androids; and a murder bouquet from humans._

_Die. Don’t. Don’t be gone. Don’t kill yourself._

Those worried brown eyes chased him out of his chair and forced him to drag Chris out on a short patrol. Made him spend time in the breakroom until he got glared at by the captain. Provoked him into snapping a few rubber bands at the android. Carried a cup of coffee around even though he ended up pouring it out at the end of the long day.

But at least Connor wasn’t staring at him anymore. The android looked relieved and almost ashamed when he said “See you tomorrow?” before leaving for the night.

“Yeah.”

\--

10 09 20—

Connor was distracted with a new case.

A busy day swept past Gavin. Like the tide flowing out over a broken shell, pulling it further away from shore.

Questions; nod. Answers; nod. Paperwork; nod, nod, nod.

The day was over.

\--

10 10 20—

Gavin leaned on the breakroom table staring blearily into his coffee and imagining himself swimming in the watery mixture of coffee and stale creamer that floated in little white islands.

He’d live on that island shaped like a curly comma with a little tail.

Warmth, blue skies, waves rising and pushing and falling and breaking against dry white sand with that sound and power an entire ocean can fit into a single crashing wave, again, and again, and again.

He startled awake and saw the scalding liquid flowing over his hand and saw the cup rolling across the table in a trail of its own mess.

Get up. Rinse hand. Get paper towel. Clean mess. Get back to work.

“Okay. What? Yeah. I’m fine.”

Chris was a good guy, but he worried too much. It was just a minor burn. There were worse things.

\--

10 11 20—

\--

Connor and Anderson were not at work.

“Gavin. Those cases. The DA and the commissioner are demanding answers.”

“I’ll have them for you tomorrow.”

“Good....hey. You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“No. You’re not.” Fowler shook his head. After a pause in which Reed seemed distracted by nothing, “Reed?” He snapped his fingers and received a baleful glare. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Alright then. If you’re gonna be here, get your head in the game.”

“’kay. I just need to review a few things.”

\--

\--

8pm

Hank groaned as he bent down to pick up one of Sumo’s new toys. “Ew.” It was damp with dog drool. “Here, boy.” He tossed it into Sumo’s bed where the dog was sleeping. Then he saw Connor.

Sleeping next to Sumo.

“Ohsh—t.” He cringed and reached out as if he could recall the toy back to his hands. But no. He hadn’t turned into a Jedi and the soft toy bounced off the side of his partner’s head.

But aside from a flash of yellow from his LED and a small ripple in his synthetic skin at the point of impact, the kid didn’t react.

A sigh of relief and Hank smiled fondly at the rumpled android sleeping alongside the dog, one arm draped over Sumo’s back.

Technically, Connor could stasis-mode wherever he wanted with minimal consequences to his physical well-being, but Hank still had some concept of household propriety. He crouched next to his partner and gently worked the askew tie from around his neck and slipped it off over his head.

Connor nuzzled closer to Sumo into a half-curl.

The shoes were a little trickier to steal, but Hank managed—using skills that were particularly painful to dig out today. Then he tucked a pillow from the new foldout couch alongside Connor so if the kid’s head slipped from Sumo it wouldn’t be sunk in the needs-to-be-washed-eventually dog bed.

Hank softened his steps as he walked over to the cubby unit he’d bought for Connor’s growing collection of clothes and belongings; it had a sliding cover and a lock to give the android more privacy. The kid didn’t mind if he opened it now and then, but Hank refused to take advantage of head-of-household, you’re-under-my-roof-I-make-the-rules power; so, he just set the shoes and tie on top.

Connor could put them away later.

\--

\--

Chill wind tugged at Gavin’s jacket as he strode across the field to the drainage pond. The answers he needed weren’t in the computer. They were out here.

He ignored the rustling around him and the smell of rot and sandalwood.

He stared at the broken railing, the scuffs and broken ground.

_Accidental death?_

_Murder?_

The emptiness swirled around him with the chill autumn air.

_Suicide._

\--

Hank was brushing his teeth staring at himself in the mirror when the thought came to him.

_Gavin is depressed._

Rapidly it was followed by a memory of a short conversation with Connor a few days ago:

_“Hank?”_

_“Yeah? What?”_

_“Is Gavin......is he...”_

_“Is he what?”_

_“Do you think....he’s been acting a little differently?”_

_“I stopped paying attention to Reed a long time ago. Easier to stay sane.”_

_“Oh.”_

The conversation had been buried under the million thoughts that poured through his head every day. But that one thought, _Gavin is depressed_ , drew others into its orbit; they circled in from the blackness of forgotten moments.

_A young junior detective leaping over a desk to speak with him about a case._

_Reed slouched behind his work terminal. Staring at the screen, not moving._

_The ever-present mess of crumbs around that desk by the lobby doors. The rings of coffee stains._

_Reed skipping his usual coffee or snack breaks._

_‘Hey Robocop!’ ‘Oi, Tinman!’ ‘Roboy!’ ‘Plastic-pet!’ Hanging around Connor’s desk and spreading coffee stains and crumbs just to annoy the hardworking and tidy android._

_Reed not coming across the ‘pen to annoy Connor. No insults or taunts toward anyone nearly all week._

_Hauling the younger detective away from crime scenes when he got too vocal about his opinion. Banned from attending press conferences for contradicting the Captain too many times._

_Repeated ‘whatever’s and ‘okay’s._

_Lifeless._

_Like I used to be._

\--

“Connor, wake up.” Hank shook the android’s shoulder. “I need you to tell me something honestly.”

The android blinked and sat up. “What it is?” He blinked again. “Sorry, what is it, lieutenant?”

“What’s going on with Reed?”

Connor looked away and drew Sumo’s ear between his palms repeatedly. “I don’t know?”

“I think you do. He’s been acting strange and you noticed it.” Hank said, sitting down in front of Connor and putting his hands on his shoulders. Aside from Chris, Connor was, admittedly, the only other person Gavin spent any amount of time with. “You tried to say something the other day and I ignored you.”

“No. I was wrong.” Connor said, his LED flashing red and yellow, “I was just confused. Gavin is...he isn’t....he wouldn’t....he was just upset after those people did that to him....” He finally looked at Hank, “it’s okay to be upset isn’t it? Don’t punish him for it, please!”

“Nobody’s going to punish Gavin for having emotions.” Hank soothed. _Who made Connor think that emotions needed to be punished? He’s deviant. He should know better._ An angry sneer rose in the back of his head. _It’s Reed. His warped worldview is corrupting Connor._ He shut that voice up quickly.

“But I need to know.” His voice was stern, “Have you seen anything that indicates depression or....” he swallowed, his own hypocrisy weighing down the words in his throat, “suicidal tendencies?”

The android’s LED swirled as he, like Hank, reviewed the past.

“He’s been very sad.” Connor opened his eyes and met Hank’s blue ones. “Too sad to eat his snacks or drink his coffee, or complain, or insult anyone. He just stares at his computer and keeps working on the same report over and over. His cases are backed up, but he hasn’t even started on them. His system is loaded with chemicals to induce sleep.”

His gaze dropped to focus on Sumo who huffed and rested his big head on Connor’s folded leg. “I found him in the locker rooms the other day....he lied about why he was holding his gun. I don’t think he was really cleaning it. B-but he was so confident when I asked him. And when I asked him not to kill himself, he looked so surprised I thought....and he said he WOULD tell me if something was wrong....I’m sorry Hank!” Connor’s fingers tangled in Sumo’s thick fur as the words poured out faster and faster. “I should have said something, b-but he was so angry when I pointed out everything that seemed wrong...he punched me and pretended to shoot both of us....I thought maybe he was just playing around like he does....and then he was doing so much better the other day....and then I was busy w-with.....the new case...”

“You mean me.” It wasn’t an accusation. Hank knew that some days he did depend upon Connor’s watchful eye to keep from backsliding into his own pit. Especially during October. And especially today, which is why they’d spent it doing cleanup work in the garage. Mainly to give Hank the time and privacy to grieve instead of drinking when he was hit by a memory wave of painful loss.

Connor’s voice trembled with teary-frustration. “Why can’t I help better? Is it just because I’m an android? Or because I’m Connor sent by CyberLife?”

Hank walked his fingers around Connor’s shoulders and pulled his partner into a hug. “You help more than you know.” He rubbed the young android detective’s back and repeated himself. “More than you know. But we need to find Gavin now.” He pulled away, but kept a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Can you trace his cell?”

Connor nodded. His LED flashed and he smiled a small relieved quirk of his lips. “He’s still at work.”

“Okay, I’m gonna call Moneypenny and see who’s clocked in an’ she an’ whoever’s there can help keep an eye on Gavin until we get there.”

“What’re we gonna do?”

“Take him somewhere safe and try to get him to talk to us without any of his bullsh—t ‘I’m fine’ crap.” Hank directed his attention to his phone, “Hey. Hi, Moneypenny....hey could you tell me who’s working the ‘pen right now?.....Oh....But Gavin’s there, right?”

Connor wriggled his toes watching them move under the thin dress socks he wore. He wanted to help Gavin, but he was so helpless without running his negotiator programing—Gavin had nearly flipped his lid the last time he’d found out he’d been manipulated into having a ‘team luncheon’ at a cat cafe with the android, Chris, and Tina Chen. Gavin hadn’t minded being there in the end, but he’d hated that he’d been manipulated by a software program.

Connor had promised not to use it on him again.

Hank swore.

“What is it?” Connor looked at Hank.

“Gavin left a few hours ago. Moneypenny just checked. His phone’s on his desk.”

Chris’ voice came through the phone. “Hey, lieutenant. Moneypenny told me you’re looking for Reed. I think he might have gone to revisit one of his case sites.”

“Do you know which one?”

“No, but he had these case files open on his computer: Alexandra Tyne....uh....the uh....Anderson case.....Helen Tyne, and that John Doe at the drainage pond.”

“He might be heading to any one of those scenes.” Connor said quietly. “If he’s not at his apartment.”

“Who’s available,” Hank asked. “For a search party?”

“Search party?” Chris and Moneypenny exclaimed.

“What’s going on?” Chris demanded. “Is the boss okay?”

“We think he’s been depressed. I don’t know what he’s up to, but he might not be thinking clearly. Just want to get eyes on him an’ see what’s what.”

“Who do you need in the search party?” Moneypenny promised.

\--

Connor refused to allow Hank to go to the scene of the traffic accident. Ben said he’d go; Connor headed for Gavin’s apartment; Chris would check the Alexandra site, and Chen said she would swing by the Helen scene. That left the John Doe site on the outskirts of town for Hank to look for the missing detective.

\--

\--

Gavin turned at the sound of a car; he held up a hand and blinked in the bright headlights that illuminated the area.

“Hey. Reed, what are you doing?” The intimidatingly broad form of Lieutenant Hank Anderson strode toward him. “Watch it.” Anderson called. “There’s a ledge behind you.”

Gavin looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “So?”

“So, I want you to come away from it.” Hank’s voice was gentle. “Come here.”

“You come here.” Gavin beckoned with one hand. “You’re just in time.”

“In time for what?” Hank took advantage of the invitation to close the distance between them.

“I figured it out, Lieutenant.”

“Figured what out?”

“I jumped.” Gavin whispered. “It wasn’t murder or an accident.” He became excited. “That’s why it’s all wrong!”

Hank kept his voice calm; Gavin’s feet were right at the edge of the pit. “This isn’t about you. This is where we found that old man, remember? The John Doe?”

“John Doe?” Confusion crossed Gavin’s face. “No...it’s Cole. That’s. You...why are you still here? You have to leave.” His eyes darted around. “You have to get him home before—before...” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s coming. Stop, stop, STOP F—ING MOVING!” He recoiled, back pressed to the old rail.

Hank stopped. “Okay, okay, I’m not moving. But what the hell are you talking about?”

“The truck. If I hadn’t asked.....then...you wouldn’t have been on the road. No one would’ve died.”

“You don’t know that.” Hank said. He knew something of what Reed was feeling. His own regrets and what-ifs had taken their toll. He was only just starting to learn how to live with a loving memory of his son instead of a punishing ghost.

“I checked.” 

“You...checked?”

Gavin scoffed and flapped his hand. “Traffic is predictable. I checked the patterns, the traffic cameras, everything. If you’d left at your usual time to pick up Cole, and got on the road, you would have missed meeting that truck.”

It started to finally make some sense to Hank.

When Cole died and Hank disappeared from work, Gavin had been left in a homicide department under the pressure of a difficult case and misplaced guilt. That tragic night had gotten into his mind and nested there, festering; each year found new ‘evidence’ to solidify the dark thoughts until they’d materialized as fact.

“Kid...”

“Don’t tell me it isn’t true. All the evidence is there. Don’t tell me that you haven’t thought of it. If you could go back and change things. Don’t tell me that you wouldn’t walk away from me that afternoon in the bullpen.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Hank put as much conviction into his voice as he could. “It was a tragic accident and a surgeon too high to operate. That’s what killed Cole.”

“I killed Cole! Just like I killed those two girls!”

“You didn’t kill anyone.” Hank really hoped that was the truth and that Gavin’s mental break wasn’t the result of a long-buried secret crime.

“You don’t know about it. Alexandra was murdered. And her sister was killed by the same person this week because I didn’t catch the killer the first time! I just let them walk free because I’m too stupid. I need to be dead. Gotta stop the source.” Gavin’s attention returned to the long drop at his feet.

“We all make mistakes—

The younger detective looked frustrated as he jabbed a finger toward Hank. “You don’t! Connor doesn’t! It’s always ME! I know what everyone’s sayin’ behind m’back! Look at ugly Gavin, check out that f—ed up face, how’d he get promoted? You wanna know?” Gavin laughed. “D’ya, Anderson? You wanna know how I got my freakin’ promotion?! DO YA?!”

Hank patted the air; he was almost within reaching distance. “Calm down, kid. No one doubts yo—

“Lies, lies, lies. Just wanna throw the stupid little b—ch a treat....shut up...shut up!”

“We all make mistakes, Gavin.” Hank moved closer. “We do make mistakes.”

Gavin’s feverish mind swung around on Hank’s confession and turned back on itself. “An’ I’m one of ‘em! It’s always like this! I was never ‘posed t’be born! That’s what they always said each year.” Gavin mock sang, “Happy birthday Gavin, did you know you weren’t supposed to exist?” The laugh was bitter and broken. His voice hardened, “Don’t you get it? That’s why everyone dies an’ it’s always my fault!” He hit himself in the chest.

But then he quieted, his shoulders slumped and he looked away. “This needs to stop....just turn around, Anderson. You can say you got here too late. That you didn’t see anything.”

“I’m not gonna do that, Gavin.”

“Well you should!”

 _How do I reach him?_ Hank wracked his brains for ideas. Gavin’s quick mind was destroying itself more and more with each passing second.

Hank need something, anything would reach Gavin through this haze of hurt and confusion.

The more Hank tried to think of something, the more he realized he knew nothing about Gavin. Only that the man wouldn’t believe any kind words, and any attempt to grab him would end in disaster. He didn’t doubt that he outweighed Gavin, but that close to the edge...he didn’t want to risk it....not yet....not when Gavin was probably high on something and high on adrenaline.......

What would pull Gavin even a few inches away from this precipice? What did the man care about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Er...double-check the tags for the story.  
> Description of dead child, suicide attempt(ish), self-hatred, Gavin's a mess.  
> Not entirely happy with this chapter but it was getting to the point of "meh...just never post it" so here it is....I'm posting the last chapter in a few hours.


	7. Chapter 7

“Detective-sergeant Gavin Reed.”

The words seemed to freeze the younger man. Gavin’s shoulders were tense; his back remained turned. “What?”

“Think about your work...your cases. All those ones you’ve closed.”

“I don’t care about—my cases?” The manic tone seeped out of Gavin’s voice and posture. Some of the old brash aggression returned, giving a drop of life to his words. “What about them?” Gavin half-turned toward Hank, shoulders nearly to his ears. Everything about him suggestive of a skittish animal. His hands opened and closed fitfully.

“All that good work will have to be reviewed.” Hank spoke quickly. “You don’t want that, right? A bunch of IA agents and lawyers criticizing stuff they know nothing about? Who knows what they’ll try an’ spin outta a mess like this if you give them the chance.”

Gavin was quiet for a moment and Hank thought that he’d gotten through. Made the kid realize how foolish this all was. Hank hoped fervently that this was the act of a moment, not a considered plan. That Gavin’s willingness to talk and argue meant that he still cared enough to come down from the edge. The next words shattered his hope.

“An accident.” Gavin’s voice was clear and calm in its resignation. “I was clumsy. Everyone will believe you.”

“No one will believe that. There’s too much evidence against you. You need to rethink this, detective. C’mon. Let’s go back to your apartment. Get some rest. Think about your cases. You can’t risk them.”

“My cases.....but....” Something devious sparked in those dull green eyes, but then it hid away under a look of defeat. “...’kay....” He stepped away from the edge; each step heavy.

Hank tried to take Reed’s arm, but was shrugged off.

The pit was left behind with each step, but Gavin was still falling away.

\--

Hank’s heart was pounding in his head as he opened the passenger door and waited for Gavin to get in. The sergeant slid inside and slouched in the seat. “What are you gonna do now?” His voice was soft; he hunched, pulling his jacket around himself and sat wrapped in his own arms.

“Drop you off at your apartment.” Hank kept his voice steady. _Gavin didn’t even ask about his car. He’s not thinking about the future. Just how to keep it from looking like suicide._ He got behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Oh. Good. Don’t....don’t tell...” Gavin’s voice was subdued as he picked at scabs on his hands. There was an ugly one spread across his left hand. Looked like a recent burn. “Please?” His voice struggled like a dying animal. “I...it’s just a bad day. I’ll do better. It won’t happen again. You had bad days. And you’re fine.”

“Alright. Okay.” Hank agreed as he waited for Gavin to buckle his seatbelt. “Buckle up.” Hank ordered when Gavin just continued to pick at his hands. “You promise that you’ll get some sleep? Take some time off?” He added.

Gavin nodded and finally drew the belt across his chest and clicked the buckle. “Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes and pressed his palms against them. “D’ya got any aspirin?”

“Here.” Hank drew a small bottle out of his pocket. _I’m so sorry, kid._

“Frickin’ off brand.” Gavin complained as he tried to read the label in the dark.

“Just take two.”

Gavin dry swallowed the pills and then rested his head against the window. The bottle clasped in his hand. Fingernails picking at the worn label.

Hank watched the dashboard clock. _You won’t do this on your own anymore._

Five minutes later, Gavin’s head bobbed. He nodded twice more before he became suspicious. “Wh-what’d y’do?”

“Relax.” Hank hushed as he took another turn on the road, gently weaving back to the highway.

Gavin’s eyes fluttered shut. “N-no.....” They blinked open heavily again. “Ah..’m...” His fidgeting hands and feet gradually stilled. “D’ya’do?” The words slurred free as his head lolled against the seat. “An’son...?” The plaintive whisper nearly shattered Hank’s forced calm.

“I’m here.” Hank said, tightening his shaking fingers around the wheel. Adrenaline and suppressed emotions were claiming payment. “W-we’re taking care of you now.”

“...d’nt....need...’m’fine.” The protest trailed away into silence and soft breathing.

Hank stretched his arm over to nudge Gavin so he was leaning against the door and not slumped over and breaking his neck. “We’re gonna get you help, kid.”

It was still dark and the road was rough, but Hank was more than familiar with it. He called Connor.

The android answered immediately. “Hank. Is he okay?”

“No. I’m taking him to the psychiatric hospital. Call the others and meet me there.” Hank said.

“Got it.” Connor’s voice was too well controlled to mean anything other than that he was beyond upset. Any other time, Hank would have cursed Reed for causing distress to the android, but...not tonight...whatever pain and hurt drove Gavin to that concrete pit......that was what hurt Connor...hurt Gavin....and had been hurting the DPD for all these years....

Hank frowned at the long road before him. If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own trauma he might have noticed Gavin’s. He should have. He knew what it was like, how it ate away at one’s spirit and mind like a parasite until reality faded out and the same painful thoughts circled like vultures, shadows blocking out all comprehension of then, now and later.

The DPD had been so busy saving others, they’d forgotten themselves, forgotten one another in their determination to be strong for everyone but themselves. Hank had experienced the DPD pain blindness for himself. Years after Cole’s death he turned up drunk or hungover to work, came in late day after day.

No one said a word. They feared and respected him too much. Except Gavin.

_Had he been trying to help in his own awkward way? All his comments about my drinking?_

He’d been grateful for the silence. It meant he didn’t have to speak about his pain.

Connor with his wide-eyed questions showed Hank that silence didn’t make it go away. That the wound from Cole’s death was as unhealed as the day it happened.

Hank thought of the others: Tina, Person, Wilson, Chris, hell, even Jeff...all the flashes of pain, the bad days, the hangovers, short tempers, forced smiles and laughter—just how much hurt and darkness did the gold shields on their badges hide? And Connor....he had been pulled into the void of silence too. Hank hadn’t realized just how much self-doubt and fear and anger the android kept bottled up. Connor had been so afraid either of the truth or of losing whatever relationship he had with Gavin that he’d almost lost the man forever.

He made another call.

“Hank?” The captain sounded wide awake and Hank couldn’t help but wonder if the entire city had been holding its breath while Gavin spiraled out of its sight.

 _Oh, hey, boss guess who almost killed themselves tonight._ Hank’s nails dug into the soft steering wheel cover. He grit his teeth. “What support does the DPD offer for mental health?” _Why do I even have to ask this? Why did I wait this long?_

“What happened? It’s Reed isn’t it?” Fowler’s usual command and confidence were gone, leaving his voice hollow.

“He told me to walk away while he threw himself into a concrete pit.” Hank spoke each word carefully. Maybe the fall would have killed Gavin, or maybe it would have left him broken and paralyzed, trapped and condemned to a slow painful death if no one found him before it was too late.

“...are you sure he was serious? You know how he jokes around.”

“This needs to stop.” Hank spat. “I don’t care how much it costs. Get a program started. I don’t EVER want to talk down one of our own again. Not if we can help it.”

“Hank, you sure you’re not overreacting?”

Hank’s voice went soft, “Jeff, please. Cut my wages if you have to. Get more officers in the department, hire a full-time psychologist, schedule awareness programs. Our people need to know the difference between ‘okay’ and ‘not okay.’”

“But how’s Gavin?”

“I’m taking him to the hospital. He needs to be admitted.”

“Is he hurt?”

“Are you listening? He’s been dead for the past week. He was just gonna make it official tonight!”

“But is he HURT?”

Hank rubbed his forehead. “I’m pretty sure he’s got a migraine; I slipped him some of Connor’s sedatives—don’t ask.”

“Any witnesses?”

Hank couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “We have a suicidal detective and you’re thinking of PR?!”

“I’m thinking about the city.” Fowler’s voice was stern, “Do you want to see headlines reading: unstable cop pulled from force. All cases under review?”

“Do you even care—

“No!” Fowler swore. “The kid has been nothing but a pain since he was hired. And now he goes and does something like this? Those Tyne people are already all over us. They find out that a mentally ill detective was working their daughters’ cases, and....we could all lose our jobs.”

“Jeff...”

“No one else can handle this city as well as we can. We brought it through the revolution, post-revolution, and post-post f—ing revolution. I’m not going to let that be ruined by stupid Gavin f—ing Reed who just HAD to act out like a bloody infant instead of just letting us know he needed help like a reasonable adult. I F—ING asked if he was ‘okay!’ Am I supposed to assume he’s lying to my face? Have I ever lied to any of YOU? I’m running a police station, not a d—mn playground for socially maladjusted children.”

“Hurts. Doesn’t it?” Hank murmured. “Learning that we weren’t enough.”

Fowler swore again. “Hurts like hell, Hank.” He admitted the truth quietly.

There was a long pause during which Hank continued to drive toward the mental hospital listed on his GPS. He couldn’t help a slightly hysterical laugh that welled up from his chest. “What am I even doing?”

“Probably the right thing, as usual.”

Hank scoffed. “If I’m the moral compass, we really are screwed.”

Fowler sighed and Hank could just picture him rubbing more wrinkles into his forehead. “If we send back the two new cars and cancel the patrol drone upgrades, we can afford a part-time psychiatrist on the weekends—open up one of those old conference rooms for a private office. Let’s start there. This is not going to look or feel good for a long time.”

“Yeah. Can’t help that now.” Hank was bitter and he didn’t care if his friend knew it. He was going to be haunted by the memory of a frantic, delirious Gavin on the verge of removing himself from everyone’s lives.

He hated to think of what it would have been like to arrive at work in the morning, seeing the empty desk by the lobby doors and thinking that Gavin was only late or taking a day off.

He swallowed a lump in his throat and banged his palm against the steering wheel. _Too close. Too f—ing close._

“Hank?” Jeffrey said, clearing his own throat. “Make sure they take d—mn good care of him.”

Hank glanced at the unconscious sergeant in the passenger seat. Yellow streetlights chased shadows over the slack face. “I will.”

\--

Fowler looked at the old note telling himself to find Reed a partner. It was curled and torn at the edges and splattered with various stains, but it’d hung there behind layers of ‘more important’ things.

Since when had the mayor’s complaints about android light graffiti become more important than the safety and well-being of one of his own detectives?

It would have been easy to pair Reed with Connor—somehow the two had formed a connection—but Hank had rejected all notions of partnering Connor with the troublesome man.

Fact was, whenever Reed and Connor ended up in any sort of proximity, crap happened; they’d blown up middle school chemistry labs, caused chaos at a national training seminar, nearly burned down the breakroom with microwave popcorn during a meeting with the mayor, been shot at and stabbed more times than any other detectives in the department.

Both that android and Gavin were untamed disasters. They overworked themselves, saw every failure as a judgement against their right to exist, bottled up the worst emotions and vented with the rest.

Hank had nipped this last in the bud for Connor and the android was more likely to confide in and listen to his partner these days. But Gavin? It was luck of the draw if anyone was around to keep him on track.

Fowler was willing to respect Hank’s request to keep Connor away from Gavin.

_No._

He glared at the pie chart on his terminal. Paying androids on staff had cut even further into the budget. It was hard to justify an increase in spending to pay things that had no need for food, clothes, and shelter. ‘Store them in the closet’ the police commissioner had sneered at the latest meeting ‘or throw them out and hire real people.’

Jeffrey had been willing to risk Gavin’s life for the sake of favoritism and a balanced budget.

He looked at the blinking message on his answering machine. He’d avoided the call for six weeks because he’d not known what to do with it.

_No._

Because he was prejudiced against androids.

He punched the button and listened to the message again:

“Captain Fowler.” The bass-baritone reverberated in the little office. “I submitted my application several weeks ago. I would like to know its status. You have my contact number.”

Jeffrey stared at the note on his desk: Get Reed a partner.

It would be hard. Reed hated change. He’d think he wasn’t enough; he’d think he was being replaced or threatened; there would be even more fighting in the bullpen, breakroom, and evidence room. Scuffles at crime scenes, complaints would roll in from civilian collateral. More lectures in his office. Gavin would fight tooth and nail against any newcomer. Fowler had put it off for so many reasons.

Get Reed a Partner.

_Or let him die alone._

Jeffrey reached out and pulled the note down. Clenching it in his fist, he returned the call.

A voice, deep and smooth as dark chocolate, answered. “Captain Fowler, I was beginning to think you’d lost my number.”

“Hey.” Fowler growled. “Show up at Central Station at 6am and the job’s yours.”

A round laugh, perfectly paced in two outbursts. “What makes you think that my interest remains?”

“Because you answered.”

A pause followed in which Fowler distinctly heard what sounded like a scene from an old musical playing in the background.

Before he could catch any of the words, though, the deep voice spoke again. “I will be there.”

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp….that's that....another messy ending ^^
> 
> Oh, funny story....don't ever fall asleep while working on a story...…..you might accidently delete half of it.....
> 
> Hooray for the undo feature.  
> 
> 
> BUT guess who gets to start making an appearance in future fics????! 
> 
> Spoiler: 
> 
> we also get to see him in an upcoming HDR chapter ^^


End file.
